Memorializing from a Distance

Somehow life has gotten too busy over the last few weeks to either take or share many pictures.  But here are just a couple from my Memorial Day weekend – one of my favourite holidays of the year in the States.

Below is my picture of the ‘flowers’ I tossed over the bridge, as I’ve done every year for as long as I can remember, in honour of those who serve at sea.   It was low tide at this time on Memorial Day, so the ‘river’ below was down to the sludge.  Ah well.  That goes right along with the ‘flowers’ I broke off of a tree in the courtyard of my dormitory.  (It’s no different than picking lilacs off of unsuspecting neighbors’ bushes, right mom?)  At any rate, the tradition that was instilled in me at the Power Dam Bridge in Mazeppa, MN… (which occurred immediately after the speech and gun salute at the cemetery on the hill, which followed the 3-minute parade on the main street, and immediately before the city-wide potluck at the American Legion, which is then followed by people standing on the street for a couple of hours drinking beer before shuffling off to different evening BBQ’s—I do love Mazeppa)… lives on, even here in Scotland.

And here’s just a fun pic of these little flowers that have popped up everywhere in the last few days—flowers only a day or two old surrounding a rock wall nearly one thousand years old.  At what point does ‘old’ become truly relative?

I hope you all had a wonderful Memorial Day weekend!

Memorial Day in Scotland

Memorial Day in Mazeppa is a special day in my storehouse of childhood memories.  In fact, I bemoan the fact that in the last ten years I’ve been away more frequently on that final Monday of May than I have been on the fourth Thursday of November.  Whether in Kyrgyzstan, Lithuania, Massachusetts, Yellowstone or Montana, the traditions of home inevitably captivate my thoughts on that day. 

So I always love it when the foreign places I’m in hold their own Memorial Day traditions.  Somehow I feel a bit closer to home, if only for a moment or two. 

This past weekend was Remembrance Sunday here in St Andrews in celebration of Veteran’s Day around the world.  And like most places, St Andrews has their own Remembrance Sunday traditions.  They don’t take long, they don’t extend far, they don’t seem to attract many people, but they warmed my heart that day. 

After a morning church service at Holy Trinity, the participating veterans march out of the church preceded by the color guard.  In the street, they join the band of bag-pipers and several different military groups in uniform.  At the sound of the pipers, the ensemble marches through the cobblestone streets of St Andrews the distance of approximately 100 yards to the War Monument.  Once there, poppy wreathes are laid at the foot of the monument, patriotic songs are sung by the onlookers, numbering no more than fifty, and after a mere ten minutes, the celebration is over and the parade participants are dismissed.  For those ten minutes though, I felt like I was in Mazeppa.

We didn’t proceed to walk through the cemetery or throw flowers over a bridge or come together for a town potluck at the American Legion, but it was a wonderful day of remembering the cost of lives the wars over the last century have had on Scotland.  It’s easy on Memorial Day to remember our own fallen veterans.  It was good to be reminded this Remembrance Sunday that nations around the world have sacrificed greatly for the freedom we share throughout the west. 

On a side note… I’m not in Montana anymore!

Memorial Day in Mazeppa

Memorial day is one of my favorite parts about living in Mazeppa. It is the quintessential day of a national holiday in rural Minnesota. I don't doubt that it is this way in many places throughout the country... I guess I just like it here so much because it is a sure tradition I have experienced for over 20 years.

Each Memorial Day, at least when I am home, begins with me playing Taps on my trumpet for the neighborhood. I stand on the deck and blast it out as loud as I can. Now, I understand this sounds rather ridiculous, but hey... the neighbors expect it every year! How can I say no? Then the family makes their way to the city/town, well, village actually, for the 3 minute parade, which consists of the American Legion members wearing uniforms on which the buttons have been taken out several times as the bellies within grow larger, the Color Guard-the group of people who have served in any capacity in the military, including combat, the high school band making their summer parade debut - horrendous, the girl scouts and boy scouts - all ten of them, and bringing up the rear... fire trucks. This year there were four; and together, they made up about a quarter of the parade length.
 

After they all make their way through, which literally only lasts a few minutes, everyone heads up to the cemetery for the service. This part, I am sure, is probably quite typical of many places. There is a speech by a veteran, a trumpeter plays taps, there is a however-many gun salute, and we sing the Star Spangled Banner. This year they actually had a sound system for the person playing guitar for the Banner. That helped a lot... until it cut out about three lines in. Then it was back to normal. After the hoopla, the Goranson crew walks around the cemetery, stopping at each past family member's grave. My great, great, great grandpa and down is buried there. Good times. After this, everyone makes their way down the hill to the bridge where there is another rifle salute and we all throw flowers in the river to honor those who've died at sea. Finally, the ceremonies are over and it is time for lunch.


Mazeppa boasts a city-wide pot luck. Whoever wants to can bring a dish and eat at the American Legion. Sadly, the numbers for this are dwindling with every passing year. Meanwhile, about thirty people (mostly relatives of mine in some way or another) mingle outside the Legion, drinking beer and chatting about who-knows-what. After a couple hours of this, the Goransons pick a lucky family member to host us for the rest of the afternoon, where we fire up the grill and finish the afternoon by eating brats, drinking beer, and planning out the Goranson Pancake Breakfast we put on for the city on Fourth of July weekend.

 And people wonder what is so good about rural life in towns like Mazeppa...

How patriotic I am...

That's my dad in the middle. This is the most dressed up I have seen him in about 15 years.



At the cemetery. My dad and uncle are standing next to each other in the middle.